A Tale of Two Uniforms
by snooky-9093
Summary: The story of two unlikely members of Papa Bear's team, their contribution to the operation, and their poignant reunions with the man, who without them, would be, well...underdressed.


_The producers and writers never anticipated the internet, and our obsession with inconsistencies and continuity. And so, in another attempt to explain the inexplicable, or just to make sense of a costume decision, I offer you all..._

_A Tale of Two Uniforms_

Although the storage unit in which it now hung was not the most hospitable place for such a proud and well used weapon, it was more than happy to share the space with the less formal but equally well used shirts and slacks that its owner wore-for the most part-all the time.

The dress uniform was a newcomer to this operation. Previously, it had sat forlornly in The Colonel's quarters at the base, waiting for close to two months to find out his final fate. Would the next of kin receive dreadful news? It would then be packed up, and sent along to the appropriate department, awaiting instructions for its final disposition. Or perhaps, there would be no word, a cruel fate, for there would be no closure. In this case, it would be packed up with all the other belongings and sent on a long overseas journey to its final resting place, its owner's parents.

But fate was kind! Word came that its owner was safe, but in the hands of the enemy. But the fellow airmen at the base refused to pack up the belongings and send them along. Not yet. The Colonel was sly, clever and bilingual, they said. If anyone would return to reclaim his property, it would be him. And so, it waited patiently for the day when it could resume its rightful place on its owner's trim, athletic body. It wasn't lonely, for it shared space with its twin. Occasionally, an aide would come in, polish the many medals, and steam its fabric.

And then the day came! It was checked over carefully, and then removed from the wardrobe. The quartermaster sergeant at the base argued fruitlessly that his charge belonged elsewhere, and should be sent to the Army Effects Bureau in the United States before being forwarded on to the next stop. But his pleas fell on deaf ears, for the two mysterious men in civilian clothes that took it from the sergeant's hand, seemed to even hold sway over the new base commander.

The uniform was taken on a ride into London, and once it reached its destination, it was packed into a box. The next step was unknown, for the box was dark, although the next handlers seemed to speak of Switzerland.

It would take an airplane ride, and an overland journey in a bumpy truck before it would next see daylight.

* * *

Both the Germans and the prisoners referred to the strange events as the bombsight debacle. The episode rankled both Hogan and Klink equally. Both men were humiliated. Klink was on pins and needles for several weeks afterwards, as he waited for the one-way ticket to the Eastern Front that fortunately never materialized. Although Klink thought that he was a good judge of human nature, he had to admit that Hogan had certainly pulled one over on him. He vowed never to fall for one of Hogan's schemes ever again, and any thoughts of plants and bugs were pushed aside for the time being, or at least for a few months. (1)

Hogan basked in the afterglow of his successful mission, but only for a short time. Satisfaction with his con melted away as he considered the ramifications of what had transpired. First, he realized that Klink was not just a mere pawn. The Kommandant had set Hogan's plan in motion with a blatant attempt to spy on the Senior POW Officer. Hogan felt violated. But what bothered Hogan more than anything was Burkhalter's suggestion and insistence that Hogan wear the German uniform. Of course, Hogan had worn German uniforms plenty of times. But that was on his terms and in disguise. Now his fraternization was out there for all to see. And having to don the German uniform poured salt into the wound. In the short time the operation had been in place, the other POW's learned to ignore such unexpected and odd behavior. But there was always the chance someone-an Allied soldier or a German officer-would misinterpret the event, and trouble would be sure to follow.

And then inspiration struck.

One of Newkirk's handmade tailoring jobs was quickly dismissed. Authentication would be absolutely essential, and that could not be guaranteed. And the correct decorations weren't available.

The request through other channels was turned down. London refused to risk a pilot and plane on a drop for something they considered nonessential.

But, mail was an option. And all that was needed was the assistance of one of the many agents stationed throughout Europe; this one worked for the Red Cross in their London office. And soon the ball was rolling.

It was two familiar hands that removed the uniform from the box and placed it on a hanger. The right hand briefly caressed the medals and ribbons already in place on the ribbon bar that was left in the bottom of the box. Its owner, The Colonel, placed the ribbon bar on a desk and then returned. The Colonel undressed and then began to place it on his body.

Excitement made way for trepidation and then uncertainty. Something was wrong. The fit was no longer perfect. Its owner tugged a bit here and there, and then pulled up the slacks. They sank. He walked over to the door and called out.

"Newkirk!"

An RAF man followed its owner into the room and shut the door. "Problem, sir?" He gazed at it, and shook his head in sympathy. "Well, I dare say we've all lost a bit of weight. Not to worry. Just a few nips and tucks and it'll be right as rain. I'll get my kit."

"Thanks, Newkirk."

The Englishman worked on it night and day, and finally it was again ready to wear. This time, it was complete, as the ribbon bar was mounted proudly on The Colonel's chest.

The Colonel's new staff (my, they looked so disheveled) nodded their approval. "Well," The Colonel said. "It's show time."

"I'd love to see the look on Klink's face," said the man with dark skin.

Whoever this Klink was…well, he was about to see what he was up against.

The Colonel left the building and strode confidently across the compound. Upon seeing his dress, both POW's and German guards automatically saluted. The Colonel took the steps into the building two at a time, startling the guard outside the door. He waltzed into the outer office, stunning the woman seated at the desk.

"Colonel Hogan!" She stood up and walked in front of the desk. "So that's what was in that big package."

"You check our mail?" The Colonel asked mischievously.

"Sergeant Schultz told me. I'm surprised our inspectors didn't take it for their own purposes."

"Just lucky, I guess," The Colonel replied. "Can you announce me?" He took a deep breath and then seemed to gather his strength. His body slouched slightly as the woman tapped softly on the closed door.

"Come in," came the voice from inside.

"Colonel Hogan to see you, Kommandant," announced the woman.

The man inside was seated behind a desk that was filled with stacks of paperwork. Armed with a very sharp pencil, he was engrossed in checking off tiny boxes. Without looking up, he said, "Hogan, I'm very busy. What do you want?"

"It's about the dinners with those generals who always show up here. The dinners you order LeBeau to prepare and me to attend."

"What about them?" The man, obviously the Kommandant, glanced upwards. His mouth hung open as the pencil dropped.

"I've been underdressed," The Colonel mentioned without missing a beat. He waltzed over to the desk and deftly removed a cigar from the humidor.

"Where did you get that uniform?" The Kommandant stepped around to the front of the desk and stood about a foot away. His gaze fell on to the medals and ribbons adorning The Colonel's chest. The Kommandant was obviously impressed.

"Came in the mail; with help from the Red Cross."

"In the mail? From America? Impossible."

"My mother asked; they listened."

"I don't believe it." The Kommandant walked around The Colonel admiring its fit and style. "It's a nice fit."

"It had to be taken in," The Colonel said a bit coldly.

"This has to be against regulations," the Kommandant said quickly. "You have your casual uniform and bomber jacket. Wear that." The Kommandant was obviously jealous.

"Against regulations?" The Colonel laughed. "What if you somehow captured an Allied general? Say he was inspecting troops, and the only thing he had on him was his dress uniform. What would he wear?"

"Hogan, that's not the same situation!"

"You expect me to fraternize, I'm wearing this. You want to show me off, I'm wearing this. Case closed." The Colonel pulled out a lighter and lit the cigar.

"This is about General Burkhalter and our uniform, isn't it?" the Kommandant sounded as if he had been taken down a notch. Which he had.

"That episode is in the past," The Colonel replied.

"In the past," the Kommandant repeated.

The Colonel nodded. "In that case, I'll consider being at your next dinner party, and LeBeau will cook… in exchange for some concessions to be named later."

"We'll see," the Kommandant muttered. "You're dismissed. Go back to your barracks." He didn't bother watching as The Colonel left the room.

The Colonel shut the door, straightened his posture and paused at the woman's desk.

"You look very handsome, Colonel Hogan," she said with a smile. She reached over and touched a medal, then frowned. "A Purple Heart."

"Don't worry about it. I have a present for you." The Colonel reached into a pocket and pulled out something made of silky material. He put them in the woman's outstretched hand.

"Danke, Colonel Hogan." The woman caressed the material for a moment; then placed the material in her purse. "But you know I'd help you anyway," she whispered. She then placed her elbows on the desk, and rested her chin in her clasped hands. "How did the Kommandant react?" she asked.

"A bit of a protest, then he caved. Just as I expected."

It could sense The Colonel's grin as its owner walked back to the compound and over to his quarters. Meanwhile, it wondered what sort of scheme its owner had cooked up this time. Whatever it was, it was sure to be dangerous. But it would be worth the danger. And it was finally back where it belonged.

* * *

The twin now had the storage unit to itself. The rest of its owner's personal items had been sent back to the states to be sorted and returned to its owner's family. Voices that it didn't recognize mumbled strange words that it didn't understand. Words like covert, and keeping up appearances. Some words were clear, and sent fear into its heart. Words like Stalag, Germany, and sabotage. But its job was to remain ready in case its owner returned. Its heart fell, however, when its twin was removed and sent away. Where was it going? Rumors had it being sent to its owner's new home. But it couldn't be sure. It lost track of time; but then the day came. Two strange men in civilian clothes removed it from its storage unit, and placed it in a bag. This time there was no protest from the base commander. "We'll have to order more decorations," it heard one man say. This was true, for the ribbon mount, medals and ribbons had left with its twin a while ago.

"Doubt he'll ever wear this again," the other quipped. "But you never know. He's got nine lives."

"Well, I can't imagine he'll show up, but the brass wants it ready just in case."

Where in tarnation was it going?

It was placed in a staff car and then taken on a journey. Not long afterwards-a few hours perhaps-it began to recognize sounds and smells. It had been there many times before, long ago, when its owner, The Colonel, was the base commander. London was its final destination.

* * *

"I don't like it, sir. Not at all." The voice, which belonged to the man with dark skin, was anxious. This was unusual.

"I'll be back in time for morning roll call, Kinch."

Aha. So that was his name.

"I'm with Kinch, sir," said the man called Carter. "If one of us disappears, well, that's one thing…But if you're missing, someone will notice."

"I have my orders. They wouldn't take no for an answer. Something happens, you know what to do," said its owner.

"This has to be about the invasion," said the Englishman; the one who took care of it when it first arrived. "Why else would London call you in?"

"That word is banned. That's an order. And no else in camp knows I'm gone. Just this barracks. Got it?"

A chorus of yes, sirs and then quiet. The owner's aides left the room, and then The Colonel opened its door. Would it be joining its owner on this mission? It hoped that was the case. The Colonel grabbed its sleeve for a brief moment. "I can't believe they asked for dress," he muttered, as he removed something from his pants pocket and put it on the shelf. "They have no clue what it takes." He shook his head and closed the door. It was not going.

It heard the sound of men speaking in the outer area. And then silence. If it could have, it would have trembled in fear, because it sensed this was a dangerous mission, unlike any other. Its owner would be gone, and there was a chance he would not come back. All it could do now was wait.

* * *

In case he was caught, Hogan dressed like an escaped prisoner, wearing tattered civilian clothes made of blankets, and carrying poorly made documents, However, everything went like clockwork. The plane arrived at the prearranged time, and soon Hogan was flying towards the English Channel. Several hours later, the plane landed, and he was whisked away to headquarters in London.

The clock stopped as soon as Hogan entered the building.

"You want me to do what?" he asked, voice rising. "Don't you understand I'm on a tight schedule?"

"Yes, sir. Actually, we expected you to be in your dress uniform. Never mind," said the British intelligence officer. "We have an extra one here. We can get you cleaned up and dressed. I'm sure you would enjoy a real hot shower."

Hogan counted to ten under his breath as he followed the officer through the halls. "I couldn't come in a dress uniform. I have to jump on the way back, remember? And if I got spotted, how would I explain my outfit? Hmmm?"

"I don't know, sir." The officer walked quickly down the hall, and Hogan had to pick up his pace in order to keep up. They turned into a locker area. "Help yourself to a shower and shave. I'll fetch your uniform."

"I'm not taking the time to…" Hogan stopped as the intelligence officer disappeared. "Well, I'll be…" Hogan ran his fingers through his hair. Of course he would love a real hot shower. What POW wouldn't? But some situations called for military regulations and decorum to be thrown out the window, and this was one of them. Without thinking, he checked his watch and sighed. The officer was still not back. Well, there was nothing else to do, except follow military protocol. He sighed again. "When in Rome," he said.

He took a shower in record time, and he certainly didn't bother to shave.

* * *

It had been waiting for more human contact. Finally, tonight it came! Steady hands removed it from storage, and pinned the decorations on to the chest. It was then walked it up two flights of stairs and down a hallway. A door was opened. It was warm and somewhat steamy in the room.

"Your uniform is on a hanger right outside, sir. I'll be outside when you're ready," yelled the man who brought it up to this room.

"You know my plane is waiting and the engines are probably still running!"

"Yes, sir."

That voice! Its owner! The Colonel had returned!

"Well, well, well." The Colonel caressed the fabric and unbuttoned the jacket. He placed it on his body, but to its horror, the fit was too loose. The pants were loose as well. "Nothing I can do about that now," The Colonel stated, as he glanced in the mirror. He tightened the belt.

The fit didn't matter, for it was back with its owner. He had returned, like the other humans had predicted.

"All right, lead on," The Colonel stated to the aide outside the door. The aide remained silent as they walked down the hall, and up another two flights. It was proud. Everyone passing them by saluted, and its owner returned the salutes. Despite the loose fit, The Colonel's posture was perfect and his stride was sound and strong.

The aide opened a door, and they walked into what appeared an outer office. A British officer was there waiting.

"Colonel Hogan. I'm Wembley." He held out his hand, which The Colonel shook. "I'm thrilled to meet you in person."

"Likewise," replied The Colonel. "I'm on a really tight schedule. This…" he touched it with his thumb. "Getting dressed for this meeting took up some valuable time."

"I'm sure fifteen minutes won't change anything, Hogan."

"Yes, but Wembley, I have to get back into the clothes I came in before I head back."

Wembley paused for a moment. "Oh. Well. This won't take long, I'm told. He's waiting for you."

The Colonel entered the office.

"Hogan. Bit of a dirty trick flying you to London for an hour of being a free man and then dropping you back at Stalag 13."

_Only an hour and they wanted a change of clothes and a shave. Surprised they didn't want a haircut as well._

"It breaks up the day, sir."

"You're a good man_." (2)  
_

The mission briefing continued.

Its owner was someone important before he disappeared. And now he was privy to invasion plans. It was so proud. But, wait…The Colonel is not staying? He's returning to Germany? But why?

"Good luck old man."

The Colonel left the room. After the door closed, he remarked, "Got to get moving." As he headed for the door, he was stopped.

"I took the liberty of bringing your clothes up here. Get you out quicker, old man."

Its owner wasn't old. What was with these British and their Briticisms?

"Thanks, Wembley."

The British colonel and the other aides left the room, and then The Colonel swiftly changed. He carefully placed it on the hanger that had held the outfit he now wore. They both took one last look at each other before The Colonel opened the door and left its sight.

The next day, it was carefully cleaned, pressed and returned to its storage unit. Seeing its owner gave it hope, and so it remained, patiently waiting until the next time its owner returned to London.

* * *

It spent a fitful night waiting for its owner's return. The men living in the outer room were fitful as well, as it could hear them walking around and talking. Then, that morning, the guard they called Schultz entered the hut and asked for its owner.

It was frightened. The Colonel should have been back by now.

Muffled voices were coming from the outer area. And then the guard entered its owner's quarters. To its utter surprise, it heard Schultz ask for The Colonel, although anyone who wasn't blind could see he was not in the room.

"Colonel Hogan. Colonel Hogan. Hogan where are you? Colonel Hogan!"

Seriously?

There were sounds coming from the outer room, and Schultz quickly left The Colonel's quarters. Unfortunately, the guard shut the door behind him, and it strained to hear the conversation. But several minutes later, to its relief, The Colonel entered the room, his men following closely behind.

Its owner opened the storage unit, removed something from the shelf, and placed it in its pocket. The Colonel looked none the worse for wear. He stole a quick glance at the mirror attached to the door and then ran his fingers through his hair.

"We were a bit concerned, sir," said Kinch. "You just made it back."

"I know. Would you believe they made me change into a dress uniform? I wasted at least 20 minutes getting dressed and then undressed."

"Wow," said the man called Carter. "They're pretty strict for a spy outfit. Where did they get the uniform?"

"From my base. It wasn't sent back to the states," The Colonel said somewhat forlornly. "Well, when you meet with a general that high up in the chain of command, you have to follow protocol. Guess I'm too used to this rat hole. No harm done," said its owner. "And I'll have to admit, the shower felt great."

"You had a real hot shower?"Asked the Frenchman, LeBeau.

The Colonel shut the door, but it could still hear the conversation. "Hot water and real water pressure," its owner replied. "You know, as nice as it was to be on free soil for just over an hour, I really hope I don't have to do this again."

It felt the same way.

* * *

Notes.

In February 1942 the War Department established the Army Effects Bureau at the Kansas City Quartermaster Depot.

From the Quartermaster Museum in Virginia: I sent an email, requesting information on personal effects, and how they were handled. This is his reply.

"Most personal belongings would first be kept a for while in storage perhaps 6 weeks until verification if the soldier was a prisoner of war , or MIA, or KIA. Usually the personal items would be sent to the next of kin. But in cases of MIA or KIA the items would go to the Central Personal Effects Bureau in St. Louis for later distribution to the families. This office continued from 1944 till 1965. Hoping this will help. Sincerely, Luther Hanson QM Museum."

_(1) "Top Hat, White Tie and Bombsight" (season 1)_

(2)_ dialogue is from the episode, "D-Day at Stalag 13." I believe the general was not General Tillman Walters (or is it the other way around?) Just the same actor playing a different character, as he was credited under British general._

Hogan returned to London in the episode, "The Big Dish," and again wore his dress uniform. He was late getting back from that trip, as well. The men were already outside for roll call. His other trip to England in "Easy Come, Easy Go," was arranged by the Germans.


End file.
